


Here's how to pot a tulip. (Merry Christmas)

by thatwhichweare



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Asexuality, Christmas, Gardens & Gardening, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 17:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatwhichweare/pseuds/thatwhichweare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas. Peter has his heart broken. </p><p> </p><p>This does have a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's how to pot a tulip. (Merry Christmas)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by the lovely fivil. 
> 
> Good lord, it's been nearly a year since I wrote this.

He is standing on the pavement abutting the entrance to Edinburgh Airport. A deep breath in, to clear the stale air of the airplane. And there’s the smell of winter, clear as a bell.

Tightening his coat around him, he slips his hands into his pockets. The cold is much harsher here than it is in London.

He has never owned one of those bulky, puffy down jackets because he believes that they make him look undignified, an oversized bird waddling down the sidewalk. And at his age, he _really_ doesn’t need that. He does think, however, that trench coats, like the one that he’s wearing now, make him look mysterious, and if he may say it, rather sexy.

The frozen taxi stutters along the road. He hopes it doesn’t decide to give up half way, leaving him stranded in the middle of nowhere, in the cold, not when he’s so close.

But he makes it. And when he sees the familiar whitewashed exterior of Alistair’s home, a flower of warmth blooms in his heart.

He puts the key in the lock and enters the hallway, wondering where Alistair is. The strong smell of fresh pine permeates the house. There’s noise from the backyard.

He can see Alistair through the foggy glass of the greenhouse, pottering around in the warmth, wearing his favourite gray cable knit sweater.

Another door opened.

"Alistair?"

Alistair turns around and brightens visibly when he sees him.

"I didn’t think you’d come," he says.

And Peter can feel his heart break a little at that. He doesn’t know much about Alistair’s previous relationships - Alistair says he isn’t prepared to talk about it yet - but whatever happened, it couldn’t have been good. Perhaps they didn’t understand the full implications of Alistair’s inherent asexuality, perhaps they... He fears that it’s too late.

"I do love you, you know," he says quietly.

Alistair cocks his head to one side and blushes gently. He prays that this doesn’t mean what he thinks it means - that he didn’t know. There is a sudden sharp pain his chest and a moment of blurred vision. He can feel tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. Utter heartbreak, he supposes.

He also feels a sense of bitter rage towards the people in Alistair’s past. How could they have hurt someone this precious? And now he has to pick up the pieces.

He moves forward to kiss Alistair gently, the palm of his hand sliding against the rough stubble scattered along Alistair’s jaw. His eyes flicker shut.

He breaks the kiss.

"Could I help?" he asks, motioning to the half-filled pots of soil on the table.

"Yes," Alistair says, "so here’s how to pot a tulip..."

Perhaps just being with him more would help heal his scarred heart. Peter silently promises himself that he won’t leave Alistair’s side as much as possible because where the heart is, there the home shall be.

And this is where his heart resides.


End file.
